Return Of The Untamed Billionaire

‘They were a married couple and were considering adopting the two of you, but they said you were too wild.’

Roman had vaguely recalled something of the kind. They had been taken to a park and he had remembered standing on a swing for the first and only time.

‘Back then we said we would prefer not to separate twins. Roman, Daniil lost an opportunity once because of your poor behaviour. Don’t let this happen again.’

‘Tell him that if he goes, when I am older—’

‘No.’ Immediately the worker had interrupted him. ‘I don’t think you understand the opportunity this is. Daniil will be receiving a private education, he will be given the best chance for a new life. Do you want your twin to have to look out for you? To support you?’

Never.

‘You need to do the right thing by him and let him go for good.’

And he had.

Daniil now worked in London. Roman told himself he was here to purchase a property—that it happened to coincide with Firebird’s return was a coincidence.

In the end he had bought a ticket for tonight’s performance.

Dressed in a black suit, ready to leave his luxurious hotel, Roman had sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the earring and told himself to tear up the ticket.

To not go back.

He had made a vow to himself that he never would.

Yet he had gone to the ballet and watched silently in a box seat. His breath had caught when Anya had first briefly appeared on the stage.

And then again.

He had watched her dance and had ached with pride for all she had achieved.

That little girl who had diligently practised over and over in the kitchen, the teenager who had devoted herself to her dream was now a prima ballerina.

And she could not have made it this far with him.

He knew that for a fact.

Standing to applaud, Roman had meant to leave then, to slip away with the precious memory of watching Anya perform at her peak, but unable to resist he had called out to her. He had watched her face lift and her eyes search for him and he admitted to himself that he had lied about slipping away, for he had brought with him the gold earring that he had found on the floor as he had cleared out his bedsit.

No, he reasoned, for he took it with him everywhere.

Would she want to see him?

Roman didn’t know.

And now Anya asked a question he could not answer properly.

‘Why are you here?’ she said. They spoke in Russian and it had been a long time since Roman had used his native tongue, but he slipped into it with unexpected relief.

‘To congratulate you, of course,’ Roman said. ‘You made it. I always knew that you would.’

He leant forward and Anya breathed in again the heady scent of him and felt his arm brush her bare shoulder as he placed the missing earring on her dressing table.

She picked it up and remembered them at eighteen, lost to the world, wanting only each other.

‘You told me you couldn’t find it.’

‘I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘But when I packed...’

He had packed everything he had into a small backpack and left without even a goodbye.

‘You could have come and given it to me.’

‘No,’ Roman said. ‘Because we would have ended up making love. It had to be that way.’

She couldn’t dispute that they would have ended up making love, neither could she forgive his choice to leave, but that he had kept her earring for all these years meant so much.

Anya wanted to open the small box and put the earring with its partner but she decided to do that once he had gone. She did not want Roman to know just how much she had missed him, so she placed it back down and stood and turned to face him. She was tiny compared to his large frame. Her breathing was too shallow but face him she would, even if it nearly killed her to do so and to see all she had lost.

He looked immaculate.

His glossy black hair was superbly cut, he was beautifully clean shaven and scented with expensive cologne. His suit was exquisite, so much so that she reached up and touched the lapel. His chest was a toned wall of muscle beneath her fingers and she could feel tears pooling in her eyes as she saw a different Roman from the impoverished youth she had known.

His hand came and took hers, at first to remove it, because contact was too much, but then it closed over hers.

Now she lifted her eyes to his and they stared and the years that had parted them seemed to drift away.

No one could move her like Roman and it was the same for him.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

He did not answer when there was so much she needed to know; she could almost feel his reluctance to tell her.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does to me.’

‘I cannot stay long.’ Roman shook his head yet still he held her hand.

‘You could at least take me to dinner—we can talk properly. There is so much to catch up on.’

‘Don’t you have an after party to go to?’ Roman checked. From the shadows he had watched her accept the duchess’s congratulations and had heard the chatter.

Still they held hands, but now their fingers were entwining and their palms were exerting beats of pressure as the flame that had never died started to burn brightly again.

‘I can miss it.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We didn’t do too well at dinner last time, remember?’